Photograph by C. Barthelmess.
Our Camp 93 was on the left bank of the Little Colorado, and there we remained for Friday, August 23d, to reconnoitre the neighbourhood, and to give Prof. an opportunity to get the latitude and longitude. The Little Colorado was a red stream about sixty feet wide and four or five deep, salty and impossible to drink. The Great Colorado was also muddy and not altogether palatable, for one's hand dipped in and allowed to dry became encrusted with sediment; but the water otherwise was pure. The river had been rapidly rising for several days and was still coming up so that we were likely to have in the Grand Canyon more water than we required. I climbed up the wall on the north side of the Little Colorado thinking I might be able to reach the summit, but when about half-way up I met vast and vertical heights that were impossible and returned to camp. The next morning, Saturday, August 24th, we packed up and entered the Grand Canyon proper on an easy river, making about five miles in half an hour and putting behind six rapids all small, camping at the head of one that was more threatening. Here a little creek came in from the right, or west, near camp. The canyon was wider than above, and we could see the summits around that were six thousand feet above the river, but some miles back. In the morning I made a geological sketch, and in the afternoon I climbed a high peak and put in some of the topography. The next morning we crossed the river to examine a large igneous butte where we found a small vein of copper ore, and after dinner Prof. and I climbed a couple of peaks and did some triangulating. Monday the 26th found us still at Camp 94 to further investigate the surroundings, and the Major, Prof., Jones, and I climbed up on the north about 2600 feet in order to get a better idea of the several valleys which here seemed to compose the bottom of the great chasm, and did not reach camp till after dark. Everything now developed on a still larger and grander scale; we saw before us an enormous gorge, very wide at the top, which could engulf an ordinary mountain range and lose it within its vast depths and ramifications. Multitudinous lofty mesas, buttes, and pinnacles began to appear, each a mighty mountain in itself, but more or less overwhelmed by the greater grandeur of the Cyclopean environment.
Tuesday, August 27th, after Prof. had put a new tube in the second barometer which had somehow been broken, we pushed off once more to see what the day would develop. The rapid just below camp we ran through easily and then made swift progress for seven miles, running nine more rapids, two rather bad ones. The Cañonita grounded once on a shoal but got off without damage. Where we stopped for dinner we caught sight of two mountain sheep drinking, and Andy and I got our guns out of the cabins as quickly as possible and started after them, but they flew away like birds of the air. Near this point there was a small abandoned hut of mesquite logs. We went into camp farther down on the left for investigations, the Major and I going up the river and finding a small salty creek which we followed for a time on an old trail, the Major studying the geology and collecting specimens of the rocks, which we carried back to camp, arriving after dark. The geology and topography here were complicated and particularly interesting, and we ought to have been able to spend more days, but the food question, as well as time, was a determining factor in our movements, and with only two boats our rations would carry us with necessary stops only to the mouth of the Kanab Canyon where our pack-train would meet us on September 4th. There was no other place above Diamond Creek known at that time, except perhaps the spot near Mount Trumbull, where supplies could be brought in. On Wednesday we ran two or three miles and stopped for our photographers to get some views opposite a rust-coloured sandstone. We also had dinner at this place and then continued the descent. After running four rapids successfully, making a let-down at another, and a portage over the upper end of a sixth we were ready, having made in all six miles, to go into camp part way down the last, one of the heaviest falls we had so far encountered. It was perhaps half a mile long, with a declivity of at least forty feet, studded by numerous enormous boulders. A heavy rain began during our work of getting below, and our clothes being already wet the air became very chilly. We had to carry the cargoes only a short distance, with no climbing, and there was ample room so the portage was not difficult in that respect. But though we could manœuvre the empty boats down along the shore amidst the big rocks, they were exceedingly heavy for our small band, and in sliding them down between the huge masses, with the water pouring around and often into them, we sometimes had as much as we could do to manage them, each man being obliged to strain his muscle to the limit. Jack from this cause hurt his back so badly that he could not lift at all, and overcome by the sudden weakness and pain he came near sinking into the swift river at the stern of the Dean where he happened at the moment to be working. I heard his cry and clambered over to seize him as quickly as I could, helping him to shore, where we did all that was possible for his comfort. As we were going no farther that day he was able to rest, and in the morning felt much better, though his back was still weak. Andy took his place in our boat to run the lower end of the rapid, which was easily done. We landed below on the same side, enabling Andy to go back to help bring down the Cañonita, while Jack walked along the rocks to where we were. Here we remained for a couple of hours while I climbed up for the Major and measured the "Red Beds," and Jack rested again, improving very fast. When we were ready to go on his trouble had almost disappeared.
The Grand Canyon.
From just below the Little Colorado.
Photograph by J. K. Hillers, 1872.
A dark granite formation had run up at the foot of the last fall and it rose rapidly higher, hemming the water in with steep, forbidding cliffs close together. The river became much narrower and swirled with an oily-looking current around the buttresses of granite that thrust themselves from one side or the other into it. The declivity was not great and the torrent was otherwise placid. After three miles of this ominous docility, just as the dinner hour was near and the threatening black granite had risen to one thousand feet above the water, we heard a deep, sullen roar ahead and from the boats the whole river seemed to vanish instantly from earth. At once we ran in on the right to a small area of great broken rocks that protruded above the water at the foot of the wall, and stepping out on these we could look down on one of the most fearful places I ever saw or ever hope to see under like circumstances,—a place that might have been the Gate to Hell that Steward had mentioned. We were near the beginning of a tremendous fall. The narrow river dropped suddenly and smoothly away, and then, beaten to foam, plunged and boomed for a third of a mile through a descent of from eighty to one hundred feet, the enormous waves leaping twenty or thirty feet into the air and sending spray twice as high.[33] On each side were the steep, ragged granitic walls, with the tumultuous waters lashing and pounding against them in a way that precluded all idea of portage or let-down. It needed no second glance to tell us that there was only one way of getting below. If the rocks did not stop us we could "cross to Killiloo," and when a driving rain had ceased Andy gathered the few sticks of driftwood available for a fire, by which he prepared some dinner in advance of the experiment. Jack and Clem took three negatives, and when the dinner was disposed of we stowed all loose articles snugly away in the cabins, except a camp-kettle in each standing-room to bail with, and then battening down the hatches with extra care, and making everything shipshape, we pulled the Dean up-stream, leaving the Cañonita and her crew to watch our success or failure and profit by it. The Major had on his life-preserver and so had Jones, but Jack and I put ours behind our seats, where we could catch them up quickly, for they were so large we thought they impeded the handling of the oars. Jack's back had fortunately now recovered, so that he was able to row almost his usual stroke. We pulled up-stream about a quarter of a mile close to the right-hand wall, in order that we might get well into the middle of the river before making the great plunge, and then we turned our bow out and secured the desired position as speedily as possible, heading down upon the roaring enemy—roaring as if it would surely swallow us at one gulp.
